


Uncertainty Road

by NorthwesternInsanity



Category: Music RPF, Ratt
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Homesickness, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 14:05:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14522241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthwesternInsanity/pseuds/NorthwesternInsanity
Summary: Three months after moving to LA, Warren DeMartini still hasn't fully adjusted to the wild party scene. A fight between his bandmates leaves him overwhelmed and feeling more homesick than usual at night, and Robbin Crosby sits up and tries to help him pass it. Mostly fluff, with some angst and playful emotional hurt/comfort.





	Uncertainty Road

Nearly six hours had passed since Stephen Pearcy and Robbin Crosby left the cramped, one-bedroom apartment they jokingly, yet proudly all the same called "Ratt Mansion West" to join their friends for a late night party at Motley's apartment. Leaving Warren DeMartini alone with his guitar and his thoughts to channel into riffs and licks to ponder, and an otherwise rare situation where the apartment was just as quiet as he was -almost too quiet.

He'd had the option to go to the party, and it was encouraged, but he chose to stay in. Tonight was one of those nights that he needed to be alone and in the quiet with his guitar for a solid, four hour block, and he was lucky enough to have an opportunity.

Now he was no longer playing, but curled up on the couch in the one room between the wall with the countertop and small workspace -perhaps the only organized space in the apartment, the door to outside, and three interior doors. One into a closet, one to the bedroom, and one to the bathroom that didn't always provide adequate water depending on the time of day. (Warren had learned it was best to shower in the middle of the night or in the early afternoon when few people in other units would be pulling water for that to be more lucky with getting a fair amount, which at least worked well with their schedule). The one, open, central room they'd crammed a couch and guitar gear into so that they had a space to work ideas out. 

He still had his guitar in his arms and he was curled around it, unsure of why other than to have something familiar in his arms. Something consistent through all the changes in his life over the past couple of years.

Today had been rough, to put it lightly. Juan Croucier and Bobby Blotzer came over for them to discuss some things, and at the end of the meet up, Warren got to watch his bandmates have a yelling match. Not the kind of yelling match he was familiar with from his family back home in San Diego, nor his extended family in Chicago. That kind -typical of any Italian family gathering -was fun. Just exuberant, conversation at high volume, usually interspersed with loud laughter and wild hand gestures. It was just as fun to participate in one of those as it was to watch one, and Warren often opted to watch, as he was joked by his family for being too quiet to belong to them.

This yelling match was of the other kind, and entirely different. It wasn't fun at all, and had there been a place in the tiny apartment to run out of earshot, Warren would have. Stephen had gotten in a fight with Juan over whether he was going to make it to some gig at The Troubador in a week they'd managed to score, since Juan still hadn't made up his mind whether to stay with them full time or if he was still keeping a foot in Dokken. It turned nasty for whatever reason, and it escalated fast from there.

It wasn't that Warren hadn't seen Stephen have it out in an argument with someone before. He'd seen plenty, considering there were even times where Stephen agreed and decided to find something to argue about anyway just to see what others would say or do for fun. How the heck that was supposed to be fun was a mystery... He'd seen a few arguments -real and recreational ones -with Juan, and with Bobby too. Usually, they were over small things, and as long as they didn't keep finding other things to shout about, it never escalated to anything too big -at least as of now. And Warren was used to most people's definition of shouting in normal conversation back home, so he hardly blinked until an angry tone came in.

This one was more than yelling though, because it had escalated. This one had ended with a glass of water smashed on the floor in anger -it had happened so fast that Warren hadn't seen who threw it -and Juan slamming out of the apartment with Robbin chasing after to calm him down. By some stroke of luck, it hadn't come to blows.

Warren had tried to take a towel to the mess and clean it up, but the death glare Stephen was still sporting as he watched like a vulture down from the couch made him want to sink through the floor and fuse with the framework of the building. So it stayed there for a couple of hours until the dust settled, only reminding of the incident until then. It was only a couple of more hours past that when the time to head out to the party rolled around, and following the commotion, Warren just didn't feel like going.

Robbin had tried encouraging him to come -wildly enthusiastic and gentle all the while, but seeing the look Warren had in his eyes that resembled a kicked puppy, he dropped the argument and said that if he changed his mind and came late, he'd let him in.

Stephen hadn't been so gentle, and made the same comment with multiple snide remarks in a biting tone over how much Warren was going to be missing.

But, he wasn't missing much now, aside from the more friendly definition of 'yelling' he knew back home, until thinking about the difference between the two versions made him start missing home itself and other things related to it. Missing some sense of at least knowing what he would and wouldn't be able to do throughout a week. Missing being able to go to sleep before midnight when it was an option -he'd considered it tonight, but it just wasn't going to happen now that he was adjusted to a perpetual night owl schedule -so that he could wake up earlier and enjoy the last bit of time before the city turned crazy for the day. He even missed the family cat, and the friendly stray that sometimes ran around the complex and hung around their unit had been missing in action since all the commotion from the argument. Warren couldn't blame it for being scared off by all that racket either.

But he couldn't get any more ideas for riffs in his head, and now that it was well past midnight, he'd have to play unplugged if he didn't want to risk waking someone else in a nearby unit up. Facing an angry neighbor was one thing with Robbin or Stephen present, but another nearly terrifying part of this new world he'd moved to when he was alone. So instead, he curled in tighter around his guitar and stared out into space across the room in hopes his thoughts would shut up and that sleep would overtake him.

...

"Are you _sure_ you don't want to go with me, Stephen? This is looking like one where we're better leaving together. You know I don't want you or Blotz to get hurt, and he at least already got a ride out with someone."

"Didn't ya hear me already? For the last time, King; I said 'no'!"

It was a typical, late night party crammed in Motley's apartment, the kind that could go on well until 3:00 in the morning, and even longer counting the quieter, hanging around after half of everyone there had passed out drunk or high and were sleeping it off somewhere.

Except this one was starting to thin out at 2:00 after a fight, and it wasn't looking like it was going to come back into good spirits -those involved either leaving or nursing battle wounds and passing death glares, so after seeing to it that nobody was seriously hurt and had what they need to clean up, Robbin Crosby decided on a rare thing for him -to just leave early and go home before things could get worse.

It was a miracle and a half that Stephen hadn't been involved in that fight, being extra aggressive today and having already had a verbal one with Juan. Robbin was hoping to get Stephen out of there to ensure he wouldn't get into it should the fight rebound. But he was insistent on staying, and with as close a friend as he was to Vince, would probably be welcome to stay the night if he chose. With his latest attempt failed, Robbin gave up. He wasn't going to have a battle and create an entirely unrelated fight trying to drag Stephen out of there. Instead, he hoped for the best as he made his way out, not having anyone else to ensure had a safe way home. Juan hadn't come -he hadn't planned on coming anyway, and any chance of him being able to come at the last minute pretty much became pointless after the situation earlier. All of them agreed that he needed to stay as far away from Stephen as possible until their next meet up to let things blow over.

And though Robbin couldn't figure out why, Warren had opted to stay home. He'd chalked it up to Warren being tired earlier, but that didn't make sense now, considering he'd been along with Robbin to parties at Motley's where he'd been tired, and he'd had no trouble then. Those nights, he often left early -being the shy kid with a star struck and overwhelmed look amidst the commotion of a party, but he at least dropped in to hang out for a little while toward the sides of the action.

 

Making his way up the short, narrow set of steps to their unit, Robbin knocked on the door and gave a quick shout before opening it so that he wouldn't scare Warren if he was awake -whatever it was he'd stayed him to do.

He was surprised to walk around the couch and find him still awake.

"Whatcha been up to?" asked Robbin.

Warren shrugged and motioned to his guitar.

"Messing with riffs and stuff, I guess. You know, just... not much, really."

"Not much? I'd have thought you'd been up to more than that to be nearly sacked out on the couch when you didn't even run wild at a party -come on; tell me!" Robbin playfully poked Warren in the ribs, provoking the latter to shudder and curl up even tighter reflexively as though it had tickled, but he didn't giggle or even smile. 

Then, Robbin's grin slipped away and concern crossed his tone as he leaned against the arm of the couch.

"You know, Nikki was a little bummed out about you not being there tonight. Stephen had told him the three of us could come, and he was expecting all of us."

"Well, I guess I'll make sure to be at the next one they have," Warren murmured. "It's not like they don't have them often enough and that I haven't been to others."

Robbin frowned, standing back up. "Let me see you a minute. Are you sick?"

_Does feeling homesick count? I know I don't want to go to the trouble to travel home for a visit assuming that was even possible right now, so it can't be that serious, but..._

"Warren...?"

It was one of those moments where the thoughts rambled in his mind and Warren could have sworn it was coming out coherently as he heard it and wanted it to, but then realized he hadn't said a single word.

Focusing, he tried to say it again and felt as though he couldn't work his vocal cords. They just wouldn't cooperate, and then the formation of what he meant to say went blank, so he shrugged and kept his mouth shut rather than stuttering out some mess.

"Do you not feel well? Headache? Stomachache -nauseous?"

Warren shrugged again, then shuddered when he felt Robbin's hand come down against his shoulders to comb his fingers through the ends of his hair.

Robbin sat down on the floor, shifting over in front of Warren to feel his forehead. He didn't feel warm, he noted, shifting his hand around to feel his neck and shoulders. 

"Sore or something?" asked Robbin. "I can get you some ibuprofen if you need it."

At least he thought they still had a few left in the plastic bag in the cabinet. Jake E. Lee had been kind enough to share some when he'd restocked his own supply before leaving Warren to live here. But that was a thought, Robbin realized. 

Had he overdone it lifting the guitar up while leaning back and gotten a muscle spasm going? He'd done that once when they were playing and horsing around with Jake over at his place on a visit a couple of weeks after Warren had come to live with Robbin. They'd been jamming out tunes by their idols, gotten into it playing the licks and had begun to do imitations by lifting their guitars up into poses -and they'd gone overboard and done it for a few hours in excess. Robbin remembered he'd been a tad sore that night himself, but Warren had been hurting pretty badly by the end of it, unable to lift his arms up past his neck.

It had been such a shame too, because they were having so much fun -running around the room and laughing, and it had been so meaningful underneath the fun. It wasn't only the first time Warren had come out of his shell with Robbin, but the first time they'd really connected musically and realized their playing complemented each other too. And, by the end of it, Robbin felt that he didn't just have a new roommate, but the little brother he'd never had before whom he wanted to make it into the scene with. And at the time, had wanted to do what he could to make the pain go away.

However, there was more to that incident simple hyperextension in Warren's case. Jake had tripped on the edge of a floor mat and fallen into Warren, knocking him down, and he'd jammed his shoulders back trying to protect his guitar from damage rather than bracing his fall. He still hadn't been down for the count for hours that time, so Robbin was stumped as to what would have happened to call for missing a party and still being curled up like movement was painful.

As he lightly palpated, Robbin couldn't feel any twitching now. It was hard to tell if it was solid tightness from a full lockup too, because the muscle Warren had in his upper arms and shoulders was the only thing keeping him from being all skin and bones. He gently nudged his hand under Warren's chin to try and see if he could get him to straighten his neck without any signs of discomfort. 

"You didn't tweak something and hurt yourself again, or-?"

There was no tension or twitching, but when Warren lifted his head, his bangs brushed over sideways to uncover his eyes, and Robbin could see the light reflect off of them too much with the slightest hint of watery distortion. He felt something drop in his stomach.

"Warren, what's the matter?" he ordered, turning serious.

"Nothing."

"No, there's something-"

"I'm _fine."_

Robbin squinted in disbelief, placed his hand down on Warren's shoulder, ducked his head, and looked him right in the eyes as if to say he wasn't buying any of it.

"You're gonna tell me you're fine when you're crying."

Warren pouted at first, trying to look aloof and dismissive, but realized that with the stinging in his eyes, he was probably looking pathetic instead. Not only was he easily overwhelmed, but he was far more emotional than people realized, and he did a good job of concealing it, but if he either was scared he'd lose something important, or missed something important he no longer had with him, it was hard to play it off. So instead he sucked his protruding lip back in and tried to dismiss it.

"Technically, you can't call it crying if the tears don't leave the eyes," he murmured, sounding a little choked up.

Robbin lightly chuckled at how stubborn Warren could be sometimes. He wasn't stubborn over typical things, and his shy, innocent demeanor made it hard to guess he could be so stubborn, but the stereotypical Italian stubbornness was there whenever he wanted it to be.

"Well, something's bugging you, whether you are or not." His tone softened and he placed his hand back on Warren's shoulder. "You know what it is? Or can't put a finger on it?"

"Both," Warren admitted.

"How so?"

"It's like I know what it is, but I can't figure out why it's a big deal, you know?" He winced and swallowed. "I guess it's kind of stupid, really."

It was stupid, he was realizing, to feel homesick simply because of two people who had nothing to do with home having a fight. It was stupid to be two wrong thoughts away from tears like he'd lost everything back home when it was still there and he was still welcome to it -he just couldn't be there right now and didn't have the resources to pay for long distance phone calls but maybe once every four months if he was going to have one of a decent length. And it was stupid that he was finding himself getting more upset thinking about it being stupid.

The next thing he knew, there was a warm body against him and Robbin's arms were around him in a stronghold.

"Come on, now, Torch," said Robbin affectionately, "it's not stupid."

"Yes it is." Warren sprung an indignant pout, feeling a little embarrassed. He turned his head to the side and looked down to hide the heat rising in his cheeks.

"Well, I don't think it is, because I bet there's something I've been wound up about that makes whatever you're upset about seem normal. Even if you're gonna be stubborn and insist that it is -and I'll let you see it that way then, because I know you're not gonna see it any differently just because I tell you."

A light, huffy exhale that sounded like it at least tried to turn into a laugh. 

"I'm still not gonna call it stupid though," Robbin insisted as he felt two lanky arms break of out their rigid, folded position and reach to take hold alongside his own.

"And you're the one calling me stubborn," Warren snorted.

"Aw, quit it!" Robbin scolded, and this time they both snickered lightly.

"This isn't stupid. The others yelling and breaking stuff earlier today was stupid." Robbin paused, feeling Warren's laughter shut down. "And if that has anything to do with what's got you all worked over, then that's a-okay, because I'm not liking that either."

"Part of it."

"What's the other part?" Robbin released his embrace, shifting his hands to Warren's shoulders and looking him in the eyes. "I'm serious. You might as well say it, because if Stephen notices and says anything, he's not gonna be pleasant about it."

Warren snorted again, and this time he did laugh. It knocked a stray tear loose, and Robbin brushed it away with his thumb before it could crawl over the sharp cheekbone beneath it.

"Guess that's just one of the things I still have to get used to too."

"Still adjusting?"

"Yeah."

"Homesick?"

"That too." Warren shrugged and leaned forward so he was hiding behind his hair again. "Don't ask me why when it's not that I don't want to be up here."

"Nothing wrong with that either." This time it was Robbin's turn to laugh. "You're not the wild party animal I am. This is the place I'm built for. But I still miss things about home too."

This time, Warren initiated the hug. Robbin smiled wistfully as he returned it.

"See? It's not stupid."

Warren snorted again, though the sarcastic effect was lost when it came out sounding more like a wet sniffle.

"Can happen to anyone. It gets easier with time. ...We'll figure it out -'Scuze me," Robbin spoke thickly through a yawn, "managed to tire myself out even with leaving the party early." _At least it was a good one up until that fight_. "Think you're ready to call it a night?"

"I guess so." Warren surreptitiously wiped his eyes before lifting up.

"Well, how about you come with me then? Stephen's still out and said he's probably going to spend the night, so if he does come back later, he can get the couch. We were here first. You know how he is when he's all strung out after a party anyway."

That was true. Stephen tended to be restless and clingy in his sleep, and sometimes got a little horny on top of it all. The more drugged or drunk he was, the worse the clinging was. Pillows and rolled-up towels dividing the bed were a must, and that still didn't grant full insurance against getting grabbed or occasionally waking up in a full-body restraint. Robbin, though he would put up with it without a complaint, and did most nights given Warren usually got the couch, didn't seem enthralled with it tonight. And Warren wasn't about to offer Robbin the couch and potentially get climbed over when he'd had his fill of excitement today. He usually opted for the floor when Robbin ended up on the couch anyway.

He stood up and followed Robbin to the bedroom, carrying his guitar with him out of habit and not realizing it.

"You need a stand for that?" asked Robbin. "It's fine in here tonight, but I'm not sure how safe it is on the floor if any of us get up in the dark."

Warren froze and blushed, coming to his senses.

"Uh- I guess it-? I'll go get-"

"I got it. Just lean it on the wall and I'll take care of it." Robbin went back into the main room to grab the empty stand the Charvel went into. Warren leaned the guitar on the wall, making sure it wasn't going to slide down to the floor, and climbed into the bed, slipping into the furthest side of it to lie on his side with his stomach flush to the wall and the window open to the city streets. A second later, Robbin secured the guitar in the stand, shut the light off, and slid in behind him.

"You don't have to flatten yourself on the wall away from me; you don't rassle whatever's next to you around in your sleep," he said.

That less-subtle comment set them both off giggling, lying on their backs to look straight up at the ceiling and the open window. Robbin slid his arm underneath Warren's shoulders, loosely hugging him to his side, but without any restraining hold. There was nothing restricting the latter from rolling back over on his side to make an attempt at sleep.

Half an hour later, though, it still hadn't happened. Warren could see the reflection of the alarm clock digits on the other side of the bed with the portion of window glass pushed up to the top to leave the bottom portion open. And he had the gut feeling he wasn't the only conscious being in the room.

"King, are you still awake?" he tried softly, not loud enough to wake Robbin if he was asleep.

"I was tired out there, but now I'm wide awake. I think I'm up for a bit."

"What if -you want me to try covering the window?" asked Warren. "If that would help? You know, the lights and traffic noise coming in, and-"

"No, those are fine; don't worry about those unless you need it closed," said Robbin. "I like that. Maybe..." He turned over on his side and propped himself up on his elbow, encouraging Warren to come up next to him. With an extra pillow piled on the bed that usually served for protective measures, they made the windowsill comfortable to lean on and look out from.

"Let's just hang out and see if we can't lull ourselves off." 

Down below, cars and trucks passed back and forth, red taillights sparkling on the right side, white flashes of oncoming headlights from the dark on the left side of the street. Whispering noises of whooshing tires on the pavement echoed softly up to the window from below, as well as the monotonous hum of engines. The occasional rumble of a motorcycle or growling moan of a sports car revving its engine to the red for fun broke up the generally soothing sound.

"I've lived in how many cities now -I still can't figure out how there's so much traffic at this time from the nightclubs alone," Warren murmured, now resting his head on the pillow as his eyes became heavy-lidded.

"Could be more of our fellow night owls on their way home," Robbin offered. As soon as he said it, he internally swore, feeling Warren flinch against him. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"They could be going somewhere else they go to often enough -some of those people with early morning work shifts who get up at zero dark thirty for it," he tried. "Or some of the midnight riders who just find it fun to go for a ride in the middle of the night."

"Probably one of the ones in those unmuffled cars, and the motorcycles," Warren mused.

"Could be some travelers who'd be in hotels by now but got lost or stuck in traffic on the way. Some of them might be going somewhere they've never been either, for all we know," Robbin suggested. "Traveling uncertainty road until they get there."

When Warren's response was a soft moan, and looking over his shoulder revealed his eyelids were drooping, Robbin pulled him over from the windowsill pillow back onto the bed.

"Bed for you, Torch."

"King?"

"Yeah, what is it?"

Warren's voice was muffled in his pillow and slurred with sleepiness. "D'ythink th'its gonna be 'kay with's?"

"It's gonna be alright with those two. Everything else, we'll get to that when it happens." Robbin got off the pillow and also lay down, pulling the covers back up. He sluggishly ran his fingers through Warren's hair, stopping at his shoulder in a soothing pattern. "For now we keep going where we're going with getting gigs wherever we can to try and put ourselves out there, and when the time comes, we'll call it a day and do something else -or maybe someday we'll finally get a call and end up on that road down there going somewhere we never thought we'd go too."

No response. The younger guitarist had finally crashed out asleep.

Robbin smiled, closed his eyes, and with his hand still resting on Warren's shoulder, he too, dropped off to sleep.


End file.
